I wonder how they vote
In the Americas that are unreal
In the blank spaces of Grover's Corners
In the ancient streets of Arkham
In the graveyard of Spoon River.
I wonder how it looks from the sea-foam of Klatsand
And the dandelions of Green Town
When our candidates Etch-a-Sketch reality
And drone away
What Gotham City thinks of the gold standard
How San Narciso sees Guantanamo
Who will carry the state of Utana
Or Area Code 555
On election day.
Maybe their candidates are fictions too
And it's Jed Bartlet versus Lex Luthor,
Martha Kent versus Mr. Smith.
Maybe their issues are our fever dreams
Of Manchurian candidates or super-mutants,
Mayan calendars or killer comets.
Or maybe it is we who are becoming more like they.
We dream of dystopia and world's end
Instead of paving the potholes.
It's more exciting that way.
The line can be blurry
For this is the country of Oneida and New Harmony,
Thoreau and Emperor Norton.
We like our utopias
And it can seem we're always rolling our stones
Upslope to a city on a hill.
I wonder if tomorrow's America
Looks like a lost Atlantis under rising waters
Or the broken land of Williams' Urstadge
Or King's dusty Gilead
Or all of the above.
I wonder about our ghost Americas
In this witching week of autumn light
Before the votes are all unsealed.
And in the throwing of the switch and the touching of the screen
The checking of the box and the drawing of the line
Which ones we are making real.